


Unloved

by Shwerlock



Category: The Boy (2016 Bell)
Genre: F/M, Love, Motherhood, Oral Sex, Passion, Rough Sex, Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-14 21:40:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16049105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shwerlock/pseuds/Shwerlock
Summary: When Greta realises who she cannot live without and has come to accept her own fate and surrender forever to the pain and pleasure that Brahms has to offer.





	1. Unloved

Unloved

 

 

It had been eight weeks since the incident that happened in the Heelshire house. Greta found herself exhausted in her apartment, the bed messed up as much as her own life. No amount of sleep could take away the loneliness she was feeling. It was similar to losing her unborn baby, only a thousand times amplified.  
She couldn't comprehend what was the emptiness about? Is it about Brahms? Or was she missing taking care of the doll? 

As sun reached it's central horizon in the afternoon, she woke up exhausted and stared at her window from afar, like she was waiting for someone to arrive, come and take her away from all this.

She quickly held one of her breasts in her hand, like a reflex. What was happening to her? It wasn't lust, exactly. Or was it? She got up from her bed, slightly limping and carried the heavy headed state of herself to the kitchen. She made lemon tea and drank it in a gulp, only hoping to feel good. She didn't. 

 

As she walked further and stood infront of the mirror in her hallway. She began to scroll her fingers along her slim arms, the thin collarbone, she could see that her stomach wasn't even flat anymore, it had started to become hollow- like an actual manifestation of losing a child, or probably more than that.  
She began to observe her own body and almost felt like a host inside of a thing that had been claimed by someone weeks ago, the plum breasts and tiny pink nipples. The red wet flesh in between her thighs ready throbbing with blood of her moon days. A moment later his bloodshot eyes flashed in her mind, it went away as quickly as it came. She brushed her hair in unexplainable exhaustion and thought of the moment in his house, when he was standing so close to her. The tiny droplets of sweat sliding down his neck ever so gently, the smell immediately had made her cheeks flush in the most obvious kind of way.  
Somehow she was thankful for the mud on her face that covered her expressions enough to not let him know what was happening to her at that moment. 

The way he was standing, so upright, like a dominant alpha claiming it's prey and breathing so heavily.. making his chest rise and set in perfect rhythm on which she was willing to lay her presence for life.

His perfectly carved chest muscles hidden beneath the dense hair. The dominant aura surrounding his entire existence, he could've probably gulped her down in one shot if he wanted but he didn't. 

When she had looked up, his eyes grew bigger in a distinct surprise, like he had finally found the last piece of puzzle that was lost eternities ago.

 

***  
Her erectile aching nipples bought her back to reality and she knew what was she missing. Brahms.  
She kept whispering his name before curling up in her blankets again and soon dissolved into the night's darkness.

 

Greta has had a string of abusive men in her life, a result of a troubled childhood. A pattern that she was familiar with from a very long time. Anyone stable or too sane didn't seem too attractive. She now admitted it to herself that if damaged goods was attractive then Brahms was a thousand folds beyond that and may be it wasn't even an obsession to heal him or herself. It was practically to experience the need they have for each other. Each moment in that house made her realise what she had been missing all the life. The solitude in the walls of that house somehow acted as protective layers around years of her troubled childhood and growing insecurities.  
Even before she knew that Brahms was a breathing living entity, her purpose to take care of the doll was healing her motherhood that she had lost, day by day. 

Greta finally took the decision that would probably cost her her life but at the moment, she didn't care about anything.  
She simply wants to dug her nails in his back, nurture him everytime he takes her name softly like a lost puppy chasing it's bitch and to make sure he isn't too scared to love her now.

She came across the fact in the most shockingly disturbing manner that she had made a terrible mistake by leaving that night with Malcolm

 

______________________________________________________

"I fuckinng don't understand what the fuck is wrong with you!", Malcolm screamed from the other side of the phone and continued to talk in a loud voice.

She twitched herself on bed and kept the phone reciever a little far away from her earlobe, hoping that Malcolm would stop talking.

 

"It's okay, I never expected you to understand. But I don't like myself this way. I haven't spoken with anybody from past two weeks.", she finally said.

 

"And you think that psycho is responsible for that?"

"What did you just call him?", Greta felt an impeccably disgusting bolt of rage rising in her stomach.

"He tried to kill me!", Malcolm snapped back

"He almost did and I saved you but that doesn't mean that I owe you anything beyond what I have already done. You don't get to talk to me like that. You just dont get to..", Greta had now sat up and began clenching the blanket tightly as tears accumulated in her eyes on the verge to flow. 

 

"Fine. Do whatever the fuck you want. I wanted you to be safe. That's all I ever wanted", Malcom felt no use to be protective of a person who wanted to burn.

"And what do you think he wanted Malcolm?"

 

There was no voice coming from the other side.

 

Greta continued  
"I don't think you can ever understand how it feels to be abandoned like that, by your own people. They left him. They served him and they were protecting him from others and he lived in that fear of exposing himself for the rest of his life, hoping someone would understand!. Can you imagine a child made to feel ashamed of himself?? For what he did as a child? The kind of days Brahm's must've seen in that house", Greta started sobbing uncontrollably and didn't even realise when Malcom had kept the phone down.

Somehow describing what Brahm's went through had bought back her own memories from the past. The way her father had tried to lock her up in room for days and . . .  
She put the phone down and slowly began curling up on floor, in position of a fetus who was trying to escape being born.


	2. The First Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To step back in the house after fighting the unbearable battle for days, Greta realised there was no use in being so defensive of something that she wants so desperately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am extremely sorry for the grammar mistakes. English is not my first language and I'm trying my hardest to serve what has been haunting me for days. I hope you guys like it and not feel guilty for loving the monster that Brahms is :)  
> Get comfortable in your sheets, grab a snack and enjoy:)

Subtleties

 

It almost felt as if she had never left the house. There was no fear beneath the steps that she took inside as she stood on stairs in the broad daylight. She gazed around for awhile and saw a man, in green coat and blue hat, around in his 60's, rubbing his beard and mowing the lawn.   
This was the first time that she had encountered a human within this close distance. The man was looking at the house as if he knew that there was somebody inside. It probably would be a polite gesture by Greta, or so she thought, to go and talk to him and perhaps ask what has been going on since there is no one serving the house, not even Malcolm. 

 

"Hello", Greta managed a soft smile.

The man looked up in a distasteful manner, like he knew she would come. He stared at her shoes a bit longer than usual.

"You're finally here. I am Peter Stevenson. Live up at the house there." .. he pointed at the hill station that lay beyond the forest. 

"Oh good", she almost seemed out of words to say anything.

"D . . Do you know who. . You know what never mind . . . actually I was just visiting here"

"I know who you are", he shook his head at her direction and continued, "..and you do not need to tell me anything. There is a reason why they left you for his care.", his eyes shot up and it almost felt like he would hit her.

Greta decided not to speak anything further and not to justify herself. No matter how hard she tries to look stiff, her exhausted body gave up the facade. At that moment she only wanted to know if Brahms was alright.

 

"Who's been feeding him? Are you the only who knows who's Inside?"

 

"I have cared for the boy since he wasn't even big enough to walk on his own legs and I do not wish upon him the hatred of the people in this town. They do not understand him. That's why he stays alone."

He looked at Greta, hoping to make her feel guilty with his words.

"Don' understand why the lad chose ya' .. left him to rot just like the rest"

 

If only she could gather enough strength to perhaps lunch this man in his face, if only she could tell him the courage it took to accept whatever she has been through.

Without thinking much further, she said "I won't leave him. And I'll make sure he doesn't has to suffer anymore"  
She turned around, increased her pace and started walking towards the house, not paying attention to the man anymore.  
She went inside and locked the doors tightly, in anger and punched the knock a few times. Trying her best to get off the anger that so vehemently surrounded her mind.  
She couldn't contemplate if she was angry at herself or the man, the chances were slightly more of the former.

 

"Brahms", she called his name as she stood in the hallway, his name rolled out of her tongue like the first droplet of rain from the densest cloud in the sky. 

"I am sorry f.. f.. for everything", she tightened her hands around her shoulders, hugging herself.

Minutes had passed by and she realised there was no point in calling him and expecting him to present himself on her command. She decided to lock up the all the other doors in the house and look around for a bit. The curtains look clean and there is no stain of blood where there once lay the lifeless body of Cole It's almost as if the house has been cleaned by someone so perfectly, she almost doubted her own memory, if what happened really did happen or not? 

 

Reflexively she burshed her fingertips over her lips, yes, it did happen.

 

She wandered around the house in her black dungaree and a white plain tee from within, her white socks had print of pandas over it, seemingly cheesiest thing to ever have been worn by her. Her hair loosely tied by a white bow which she let loose once she came in the bedroom.  
Occasionally while roaming around the house, she had heard a few creaks from the stairs and the walls, evidently suggesting that Brahms was around, watching her. The scariest part was the oblivion, she couldn't understand if he was angry or desperate to meet. Sometimes the creak was close to her neck whenever she leaned against the walls, almost as if she was being sniffed and then teased; like a game of hide and seek. 

Around 10pm in the night, when she came inside her bedroom, recalling every moment of the day, she looked outside her bedroom window one last time and glanced over to the garden, the man wasn't there anymore. Her eyes fixated on the hill on which he pointed this afternoon, a single dim light was visible on the top of the hill which after awhile made her bit uncomfortable. 

 

 

*Thud* 

 

She heard someone walking up the stairs and immediately glanced at the mirror that stood opposite to her bed and fluffed her hair with her long fingers. The steps approached closer and stopped. She couldn't make out the figure in the dark and stood there at the edge of her bed, waiting . . . . paralyzed.

 

Minutes seemed longer than a few centuries as he walked in, his figure was distinct and visible as he stepped inside the bedroom.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.

Despite of the dim light in the bedroom, she could see him clearly, his curls daintily hanging on his porcelain mask.   
.  
.  
.

His eyes fixated on hers and his fist clenched.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.

As he came closer, walking in her direction, closing the distance between them, his gigantic figure had made her heartbeats escalate in minutes with each step that he took.  
She felt her lips trembling and hands sweating profusely, knowing full well the danger she has put herself in.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
The scar on his abdomen was plastered and a bolt of blood stain was distinctly visible. She looked down at the wound as he begin to sniff her hair, bringing back the deja vu of the first day they met.

 

He is finally here.


End file.
